It seemed as though Moriarty had disappeared off the face of the Earth. It had been months and not even a whisper of the consulting criminal had been heard. As each week, each month passed Sherlock grew restless. John could sense his tension whenever they were in the room together.

Sherlock hardly slept. Instead he took to long hours on the computer, searching for any sign of Moriarty. Most people would just be glad to have gotten out of the pool alive, but Sherlock wasn't most people. Instead he fixated on the fact that Moriarty had survived as well as was still out there "in the big bad world."

John understood the need to find Moriarty. The man was dangerous. At any point he might decide to come after Sherlock and John again. They would all be safer if Moriarty was in prison or better yet dead. But since Moriarty seemed to have taken great care to fall off the radar, John was hesitant to believe they would find even the slightest trace of him. Men like that were very good at not being found if they didn't want to be.

The wall had taken a great number of beatings from Sherlock over those months. He no longer used it as an outlet for his boredom, instead as a way to cope with his frustration. John had finally had to hide his gun where he knew Sherlock couldn't find it (under the floorboards in his bedroom. It had been quite a chore prying them up and he had been careful to do it when Sherlock was out of the house. He knew however that Sherlock could find the gun if he really wanted to. Not much was easily hidden from Sherlock Holmes)

Sherlock was sitting in his usual chair, well not exactly sitting, more like crouching. His palms pressed together under his chin, his usual look when he was thinking. John placed one of the cups of tea he had just made and set it down by Sherlock before sitting in his usual seat across from him. Sherlock's fingers twitched a little but he made no mention of John's presence or the cuppa. This was to be expected although John couldn't help thinking that a 'thank you' would be nice. Then again manners were not high on Sherlock's list of priorities.

"There must be something." Sherlock growled quietly but loud enough for John to hear him. This was just some more of John filling in for Sherlock's missing skull. Not that John really minded, it was always fascinating to watch Sherlock's brain work.

"Sherlock, you've looked everywhere. There's no sign of him. I imagine there won't be until he wants us to." John grimaced, knowing what the uncertainty was doing to his friend. Friend, an odd term for their relationship. Sometimes it felt like what they did together was so much more than friendship. John often feared that this was and would always be the most important relationship in his life. How was he supposed to find someone to love when he was, for intensive purposes, attached to Sherlock Holmes?

Sherlock could be strangely possessive when he wanted to be. For instance when he tagged along to John's date or the way he pouted when other things besides Sherlock and his work occupied John's time. John would never tell Sherlock this, but he would rather be focusing on cases as well. Sitting in a clinic for eight hours was unbelievably boring compared to the times he spent with Sherlock chasing murderers and thieves around London. He equated it to how Batman must feel during the day when he's forced to be Bruce Wayne. Although out of the two of them, if anyone was Batman, it would be Sherlock. John frowned at the prospect of him being Robin in this scenario.

"John, will you please stop?" Sherlock yelled, catching John off guard.

"What?" he asked wondering what he could have possibly done.

"I can't concentrate with you over there, your mind racing. It's very distracting."

"Sorry." John said sheepishly. "I'll get out of your hair."

John stood and went into the kitchen, he finished the rest of his tea in one gulp and set it in the sink to wash later. He was about to head upstairs when Sherlock called out his name. John reluctantly returned to the livingroom to see what his flatmate wanted.

"I'll require the use of your gun." Sherlock said calmly. It was a ruse. The calm before the storm.

"Sherlock, no." John said shaking his head. "The wall won't be able to stand another round with you."

"It will be fine." Sherlock waved it off. Just another addiction. Sherlock, the addict. John had been shocked when he first found out. Now it made so much sense.

"No it won't and it doesn't matter because I've gotten rid of it." John lied through his teeth.

"You're a terrible liar John Watson, although you have stashed it somewhere." Sherlock said observing him. John shifted uncomfortably. "Somewhere you don't think I'll find it. I must warn you that I am up to the challenge."

"I would warn you about going through my things—"

"It would be a waste of time."

"I figured." John said with a sigh. "Still I'm not enabling you."

John turned and started up the stairs to his room, not sure what he was planning on doing once he was there. Sherlock would have undoubtedly moved his laptop yet again so he couldn't count on it being in his room.

"John, please." Sherlock pleaded, following John up the stairs.

"Sherlock, you have to stop this." John said rounding on him. "Call Lestrade, see if he's got any cases."

"I already have. Nothing remotely interesting."

"There's got to be something better for you to do than shoot the wall." John insisted.

"For instance…?" Sherlock asked, his eyes wide waiting for John to answer.

"I don't know." John shrugged slightly. "Watch telly. Update your website. Or God forbid do the shopping."

"Dull." Sherlock said making a face.

"Then play your violin. I'm sure the world's only Consulting Detective can think of something better to do with his time than obsess over Moriarty or shoot up the wall." John said in exasperation.

John's gaze met Sherlock's and for a moment they just stared at each other. Sherlock's face tentatively moved towards John and John found himself unable to move or comprehend what was about to happen. Sherlock's hands shot up out of nowhere and grasped either side of John's face. Sherlock's lips smashed against John's and he knew Sherlock was pouring all his frustration into this kiss.

The Consulting Detective's body pressed against the Army Doctors as Sherlock roughly pushed John against the wall. Sherlock's tongue darted out and parted John's lips, deepening the kiss. The height difference was awkward, with Sherlock bending down and John standing on his tiptoes. This whole thing was taking awhile the register in John's brain.

The whole thing was so odd. Not just because he was kissing Sherlock (which was an oddly human behavior for the high-functioning sociopath) but because he had never kissed another man before. He'd never really taken time to assess his sexuality. He'd always been attracted to girls so that was whom he went after. He didn't think of himself as bisexual, gay or whatever label you waned to put on it. Truth be told, he wasn't attracted to men. He was attracted to a man. This man.

Sherlock, with his fascinating brain, his slim body, dark hair and impossible cheekbones. John had always been somewhat enthralled by his flatmate. He'd never really thought about actually physically acting on his attraction to Sherlock. He wasn't even sure that was what it was until the moment Sherlock kissed him. But every once in awhile, when they locked eyes and stared at each other for a long time, John would feel this strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. He'd always had a sneaking suspicion that it was longing. Now he knew for sure that it was.

"John, either stop thinking or share." Sherlock growled with irritation, pulling away from their kiss.

"Sorry." John grumbled before attempting to get his breath back. "It's just a lot to process."

"Are you surprised by my actions or my interest?" Sherlock asked

"Both actually." John admitted. "I thought you said you were married to your work."

"Well since my work has been pretty bear as of late…"

"So I'm what?" John asked smiling bemusedly. "Your mistress?"

"If you'd like to think of it that way, you can." Sherlock said noncommittally.

Wordlessly, John took Sherlock's hand and led him the rest of the way to his bedroom. Sherlock sat on John's bed and John gently eased himself on top of Sherlock, straddling him. This helped with the height difference immensely. Their lips met again, more tender this time. John's lips trailed down finding Sherlock's chin, adam's apple and finally his neck.

That neck, so long and perfect, often covered up by a scarf. That should be a crime in and of itself. John could hear Sherlock panting in his ear and it made his own breath become more staggered. John brings his lips back to meet Sherlock's. He wants to taste him, to explore.

John's surprised when Sherlock's hand descends down to John's pants. He undoes the button and the zipper quickly before reaching down to stroke John's cock. Sherlock does it with precision, as if he's applying resin to his violin bow, from base to tip. John moans into Sherlock's mouth, feeling Sherlock hardening beneath him.

Sherlock's thumb circles the head of John's penis. "Oh Fuck. Sherlock. Fuck." John said so overcome with pleasure. He still couldn't believe this was actually happening, but while it was, he was going to enjoy every bit of it. He wanted to know everything, to touch every bit of him and for Sherlock to do the same.

Sherlock unexpectedly gets up, causing John to stand as well. If he didn't have such fast reflexes, he might have fallen to the floor. Sherlock spins him so they've switched places and gently presses down on John's shoulders. It's similar to how he's always been when they've touched in the past, guiding but not forceful. John obliges and sits down on the bed.

He watches as Sherlock drops to his knees next to the bed and releases John from the rest of his pants and underwear. They fall to his ankles and Sherlock pulls them off completely. Sherlock puts his hands on John's thighs and spreads them apart just a bit. He takes just the head into his mouth and slowly makes his way up until all of John is in him. Sherlock is methodical, like getting sucked off by someone who read about it in a step by step manual (which is not entirely impossible considering it's Sherlock, after all he likes research). Except every once in awhile he'd throw a curve ball like reaching up to fondle John's balls or his tongue darting out to lick the tip. It's the things like that that cause John to yell out "Oh God."

Sherlock had gotten an amazing rhythm down and John was so close to coming. He could see Sherlock making mental notes of what John liked and what he didn't. He had reached forward and tangled one of his hands in Sherlock's curls with the other had grabbed the bed frame to steady himself. He was gripping it so tightly, his knuckles were white. No, it's too soon, he thinks looking down at Sherlock and at that moment Sherlock met his gaze. With that, it was all over. A scream of ecstasy ripped from John's throat as he came down Sherlock's.

John flopped down onto the bed exhausted. He rubbed his eyes and then ran his fingers through his hair. He wanted to say something to Sherlock but had no idea what one would even start to say in this situation. Then it dawns on him that he hardly touched Sherlock, that he might want some taking care of as well.

"Sherlock, did you want me too…" he trailed off too embarrassed to finish. He knew he was blushing a deep red.

"That won't be necessary." Sherlock said aloof.

"Are you sure?" John asked confused. "I don't mind."

"I've already, well, these pants are probably ruined now." John never thought he would see Sherlock Holmes looking self-conscious. It was somewhat endearing. Sherlock was looking more and more like a human being by the second. John couldn't help smiling and when Sherlock returned the smile they both began laughing.

John reached forward and grabbed Sherlock by one of his belt loops, pulling him closer. "Next time, I promise I'll make sure you're taken care of." John offered as he kissed Sherlock. It was becoming so natural so quickly. Kissing Sherlock, liked they'd been doing it for years. Maybe it was just born from the closeness they'd already shared.

Sherlock didn't respond except with returning the kisses. John couldn't even fathom what a brain like Sherlock's would be thinking at a time like this. Instead he enjoyed having Sherlock's full attention before something else dragged him away. He doesn't regret it, but he was hesitant. If there was a point of no return, they were way past it.

E